


Acts of Kindess

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Banter, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes solace and support come from unlikely places. The President and Vice President grow closer after New Caprica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acts of Kindess

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to lanlucy and newnumbertwo for beta, encouragement, and support.

Laura examined the fuzzy green blanket that had been draped around her shoulders some time in the post-midnight hours. This was the third time in the past two weeks and she still had no idea who her blanket-benefactor was. She left it on her chair knowing when she returned to her desk in a few hours, it would be gone. Her neck muscles wailed in protest as she stood up and turned her head. She really did have to stop doing this. She sighed. If only it weren’t one of the best times to get work done without the phone calls and the questions and the relentless stream of daytime interruptions.

With a yawn and a stretch, Laura straightened the items on her desk into neat piles, jotting down reminder notes for herself. Minutes later, she was just about to leave the office when her private line rang.

“Laura Roslin.”

“Good morning.” It was her Vice President. He sounded awfully exuberant, which was a reasonably good indicator he wanted something.

“What do you want, Tom?”

“I’m hurt, Laura. I don’t always call you when I want something.”

“You sound eager. I worry when you sound eager.”

“Are you saying I have a tell? Hmmm, I’d better work on that then.” He laughed. “All right. I do want something, but I think it bears reminding that most of the time I don’t. This is an isolated incident.” He paused. “I really need your help.”

Laura curled the cord around her finger. “I’m listening.”

“Jonas Simms….”

“No. Ohhhh no.” Laura moved the phone away from her ear, as if the defensive gesture would somehow vaporize both Tom Zarek’s request and Jonas Simms himself.

“Please. Laura,” croaked Tom, “It’s a ten minute meeting. My ten o’clock.” His tone took on a honeyed note. “You can probably do it in seven.”

Laura made a disgruntled sound and brought the receiver back to her mouth. “Not Simms. You agreed to ten minutes? What were you thinking?”

Simms was an inflammatory reporter from Aerilon who called himself the “Watchdog.” He was popular, which made him impossible to avoid completely. Occasional interviews seemed to mollify him. Avoid the man for too long and he was downright nasty. Laura had found that offering a rare exclusive was always better than completely ignoring him. She had done the last interview so it was Tom's turn to be tortured -- not hers.

“Why can’t you make the appointment?” asked Laura.

Tom's buoyant voice wilted a little. “I double-booked. I’m supposed to meet with the kid on _Rising Star._ The one I got the the _Odyssey_ action figure for. I’m there now and I’ll never make it back to _Colonial One_ in time to meet with Simms.”

Laura remembered the ailing eight year old boy. She had actually sanctioned Tom using his black market connections to procure the rare toy for him after the child had presented the Vice President with a hand drawn cartoon of their mutually favorite hero.

Laura closed her eyes. “Of course I'll do it.”

“Thanks. Really. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Blah, blah blah.” Laura looked down at the pencil skirt she was wearing and suppressed a groan. “I have to go,” she snapped. “I can’t do an interview with Simms in a skirt. He’d enjoy it way too much. He’s an utter pervert, you know, when the cameras aren’t rolling.”

“Laura -- “

“I will speak to you later, Mr. Vice President.” Laura slammed the phone down onto the receiver. She enjoyed the loud clang it made but not nearly as much as she would have had it been Tom Zarek’s head.

* * *

 

The Simms interview was just as unpleasant as Laura had expected it would be. Six minutes of agonizingly inane questions and insinuations. The brief encounter left her feeling more irritated and drained than ever. The man was such a sleazy little leech. She managed to squeeze a short nap in between late afternoon meetings, which did improve her mood somewhat, although the pain in her neck was even worse after lying down.

She’d read for a little while, go over some paperwork, and then probably sink into bed for the night. A rare evening alone would almost be a little slice of heaven. She checked her calendar one last time and smiled at the empty blocks. Twenty minutes later, she was settled into her chair with a new book in her lap. She read the author’s dedication and turned onto the first page. Then her phone rang.

“Hello,” said Laura flatly. Tory’s daily check-in no doubt.

“Hi.”

Speaking of a pain in the proverbial neck.

“You have horrible timing. Do you know that, Tom?”

“Got a minute to see me? Your goons won’t let me near you.”

“Oh, really? That’s not an accident. Put Venner on.” Laura quickly gave the guard permission to let the Vice President in. A couple of moments later she heard his familiar knock. She flung the door open with a rather satisfying crack.

“I’m going to make this very quick,” said Tom, shutting the door behind him with his shoulder. He hefted a large bundle in his arms, peeking out at her from around the corner of the bag.

“You can put it down in the chair,” said Laura in a tone of sad resignation. She glanced longingly at her book.

“I know you’re furious with me and I’m really sorry -- “

“Oh, stop being nice so I can continue being angry with you.”

Tom smirked at her. “I brought you a few things in way of a peace offering.”

He dug into the large brown paper bag and pulled out a bottle of white wine.

Laura’s eyes widened. “Where did you -- “

“You really want to know?”

“At this point -- no. Probably not.”

Tom grinned. Next he pulled out a large hardcover book entitled _Gods, Goddesses, and Heroes._ Laura stepped closer to look at it. _Caprica Public Library_ was stamped across the top of the pages. Flipping through the first few sheets, Laura saw that the book contained illustrations and paintings of the familiar pantheon, alongside texts from the sacred scrolls.

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Laura. She pushed it toward him. “But I can’t keep it.”

“It was sitting at the bottom of a box,” said Tom, pushing the book back toward Laura. “We’ll find a proper home for it later, but enjoy it for a little while. Come on. When do I ever get to give anybody anything? This is fun. Humor me.” He continued to hold the book out to her.

Laura took it and placed it on her desk. A sharp pain radiated from her neck to her shoulder. She winced.

“You all right?” asked Tom, hand poised midway into his bag. He actually looked -- _concerned._

“Fine,” grumbled Laura as she rubbed her neck. “I slept wrong.”

He gave her a disapproving look and proceeded to pull out a very familiar green blanket.

“That’s because you sleep at your desk.” He placed the blanket in her hands. “I had it cleaned.”

“Thank you,” said Laura, hoping she was doing a fair job hiding her astonishment. She wondered why it had never occurred to her -- not even once -- that Tom Zarek could be the one who’d been covering her up on those all too frequent nights when she fell asleep in her office.

“Am I forgiven?” He smiled winningly at her and Laura noticed, also for the first time, that he had a dimple on one cheek. His left.

“No,” she said. But there was no venom in it.

“What about if I take care of your sore neck? Would that earn me a full pardon?”

“Allowing you to wrap your hands around my neck seems like it could be hazardous to my health.”

Tom frowned. “Do you really think I’d hurt you, Laura? After New Caprica? After all that crap that’s been going on with Baltar? After you gave me the vice presidency?”

“I think,” said Laura, tipping her chin up, “you’d do a lot of things if it suited your purpose, Tom. And if you don’t think so, too, then you don’t know yourself very well.”

His voice flickered down to a near murmur. “Maybe.” A couple of moments ticked by and when he spoke again, his tone returned to its usual levity. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion I have magic fingers.” He put his hands up and gave them a wiggle.

“If you make my neck worse,” said Laura with exaggerated sweetness, “I’ll find a reason to airlock you.”

Tom pulled her chair out and turned it around. He patted the cushion. “Pillow?”

“To smother me?”

“For your back, Madame President. You know, you’re giving me a complex. Gods, you’re morbid.”

Laura sat down, giggling. “It’s the company.” She placed a hand against her neck. “Ow.”

“I haven’t even touched you yet,” said Tom.

She felt his fingers brush against the nape of her neck. “No -- I know -- it’s the laughing.”

“That bad, huh? When did the pain start?”

“This morning, Dr. Zarek. Can you get this thing moving? I have a good book waiting for me.”

“I have to assess the situation,” said Tom. “You can’t rush a good massage.”

“Oh, for gods sakes,” grumbled Laura.

“Scoot forward a little,” said Tom. He placed the pillow lengthwise against her back. “Better or worse?”

She leaned back against it. “About the same.”

Tom gathered her hair away from her neck and pushed it to one side. It had been a long time since anybody’s hands had been in her hair besides her own and Laura had to admit it felt good. He slid his hands over her shoulder blades and then against the curve of her neck, not pressing in but just gliding over her skin.

“If this is going to work, Laura, you’re going to have to relax.” She could feel the heat of his breath against her neck as he leaned in.

“I _am_ relaxed,” said Laura through gritted teeth.

Tom chuckled. “You are not. And this whole position is utterly wrong. It’s not like I have a ton of options though, unless...you’d like to lay down on the bed.”

Laura tipped her head up and gave him a withering look. “Not happening.”

Tom smirked.

He kept the initial contact light, only pressing deeper after several minutes of gentle kneading and long, slow strokes. When he finally moved lower to massage into her shoulders, Laura released a quiet sigh and closed her eyes.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked, testing out a deeper pressure, inching his way briefly to the knot in her neck. He lingered there for only a moment or two and then worked his way back upward. By the time he reached the base of her earlobe, he had reduced his touch again to the original lightness of just his fingertips. Then he moved lower to the problem spot in her neck. This time he employed the firmer touch he’d gradually been building toward. There was a rhythm to what he was doing, a steady climb, like the gentle progression of waves lapping against the shore when the tide increases.

“Laura?” Tom prompted.

“No,” croaked Laura, suddenly remembering she’d never answered his question about whether or not he was pressing too hard.

He touched her with an even firmer pressure, kneading vigorously in between her shoulder blades, directing the movement of his hands outward to the side of her neck, really working into the tightness there. She yelped when he hit right on her most sensitive spot but was glad when he didn’t stop. Instead, he only increased the momentum until her next intake of breath came out as a shallow gasp.

Laura’s head flopped to the side. She could feel Tom stroking her neck and shoulders with a more relaxed rhythm. He slid his thumb along the length of her spine before opening up his palm to caress her back with splayed fingertips. His movements tapered off but he didn’t sever the contact right away. He just stood there with his hand resting against the small of her back, warm through the flimsy silk of her blouse.

“Any better, Madame President?” Tom moved to face her and Laura straightened her posture, smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes with practiced care. Her body felt loose and floaty but she wasn’t about to tell him how good he’d made her feel. His ego was big enough already, not to mention the fact that she should never have agreed to this in the first place.

* * *

 

Tom gave his hands a quick shake, flexing his fingertips back and forth. Laura attempted to stifle a yawn but didn't seem to quite manage it. She covered her mouth for a moment before answering his question about the massage's effectiveness, saying it was too soon to tell.

He watched her raise her arms above her head and stretch. The motion directed his eyes to the gap at the front of her blouse where the black lace of her bra peeked out at the cleavage. With a great force of will, he averted his eyes. Under normal circumstances, he might have made a playful show of looking. But it somehow felt like a breach of good faith to be ogling the President after suggesting a conciliatory massage. He was thrilled and intrigued she'd permitted the prolonged physical contact. If treading carefully would open the door for more, then he'd gladly bide his time.

Because gods -- he did want more.

He cleared his throat. "I'll let you get back to your book then. If you need a refresher in the morning, I could realign anything that gets out of joint. And stop sleeping at your frakking desk."

It was too early to lo go to bed so Tom wandered the halls of _Colonial One_. Maybe he could work off this restless energy at the gym. It would be pretty quiet now. Most people would be out and about enjoying the slim pickings the nightlife offered. He considered that, too. A quick frak was truly tempting but even casual sex had become more complicated since he’d accepted the vice presidency. There were plenty of women -- or men -- if the mood struck him -- who would be more than willing to share his bed. But discretion was vital and he wasn’t willing to let his reputation float down the drain over a quick lay.

Even if risking a scandal weren’t an issue, Tom wasn’t so sure sex with a stranger would solve the problem. He’d always prided himself on the control he had over his body. Women did love a bad boy, didn’t they? And they’d flocked to him in his younger days. A hotel room key dropped into the bottom of his wine glass when he wasn’t looking. An eager smile flashed his way in the middle of a crowded rally. He hadn’t had to put in much effort. And human nature tends to shrug off the things that come too easily. Those quick casual affairs were largely forgettable. Not so much unlike packaged convenience foods. They might sate your hunger but there wasn’t a whole lot of substance there, just a bunch of empty calories.

He took a cool shower after the vigorous workout he’d finally opted for in the half-empty gym, changed into a pair of pajama bottoms, and flopped down onto his rack. His mind flooded with image after image of Laura Roslin. Draping the green blanket over her shoulders when he’d discovered her sleeping at her desk. The picture morphed into her lying on _his_ cot, eyes closed, red curls streaming across his pillowcase. He imagined undressing her until her smoky green eyes fluttered open. He’d seen disdain in those eyes plenty of times before. Laughter occasionally. Self-righteous anger. But in the fantasy he allowed to unfold now in his mind, he imagined what they’d look like lit up with the heat of desire.

By the time the imagery suddenly had audio as well as the vivid visual stimuli, he was already aching and half hard. It started with a replay of the little catch in her breath when his fingers found the tightness in her neck and escalated into snippets of conversation they’d had. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Jerking off to the sound of the President calling a Quorum meeting to order. The whole thing made him feel like a desperate, horny, teenager and he half hated himself for it. But the self-recrimination wasn’t enough to stop himself from slipping a hand into his pants. A few strokes. It wasn’t going to take much, not after how turned on he’d been ever since giving her that godsdamned massage. He imagined being pinned underneath her when he was about to come, her heartbeat thudding against his chest, both of them gasping for breath. Nothing fantastical in that image. He could still remember the acrid smell of burnt electricity in the air from the gunfire. He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and cleaned himself up before rolling over onto his side and pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. Sleep descended soon enough but it didn’t last.

His phone rang. Loud. So frakking loud. He inched his hand along the nightside table until he closed his fingers around the receiver, knocking his alarm clock onto the floor in the process.

“Yeah?” he rasped into the phone.

“You’re in bed! What the hell?”

“What time is it, Tory?”

“10:05. Meeting’s already started. You’re late.”

“Your keen powers of observation never do disappoint.” He pressed the phone back into its cradle and rubbed his face. He must have forgotten to pull the button out on his alarm. Well, he wasn’t going to go to a Quorum meeting looking like a scrub. He was going to take a shower, get himself together, and put on a clean suit. Screw it. It’s not like he’d ever been late for a meeting before. The first twenty-five minutes were all bureaucratic bullshit anyway.

He was right. They’d barely gotten through even one item on the agenda when Tom slipped into the meeting. He expected a snarky comment from Laura about his lateness but it never came. She looked as impeccable as always but she appeared somehow less engaged than she usually was. Distracted. Tom couldn’t quite put his finger on it but there was something off.

“How’s your neck?” he asked casually when the last delegate had filed out of the room and Laura was alone gathering up her paperwork.

“My neck? Oh. It’s -- fine.”

He frowned. “I arranged for some lunch for us if you want to hole up in the breakroom and go over some of those notes.”

She flipped through a stack of papers without meeting his eyes. “I can’t. I have a meeting.”

“Really? Your schedule was clear yesterday. Something going on that I should know about?”

“If there were _something going on_ and I wanted you to know about it, Mr. Vice President, then you’d know,” said Laura with a shrug of her shoulders. “Worry less about my schedule and more about your own. Maybe then -- oh, I don’t know -- you wouldn’t be double booking appointments and showing up late for meetings. Excuse me.” She scooted past him and ducked out the door without another word.

It wasn’t all that difficult to get a look at Laura’s appointment book. He’d done it once before but this time his reasons were personal rather than political. He’d always been fairly certain about her and Adama. Confirming it would give him leverage but one-upmanship wasn’t the motivation that drove him to flip through the pages of the little black book with unsettling urgency. It was the middle of the day. He was being careless. He was never this sloppy.

After he found the information he was looking for, he closed the book with a sinking heart and left it exactly where he’d found it. Precious blocks of the President’s time had been set aside for repeat meetings, only the name written there -- the name he’d been so certain he’d find -- wasn’t the Admiral’s after all.

Given what he’d found written in Laura’s immaculate handwriting, Tom wished it were.

* * *

 

Laura waited a few days before placing the call to Tom Zarek. Her emotions were too raw after Baltar’s acquittal. She was so angry with Bill and with Lee, the temptation to commiserate would have been too strong. So she allowed herself some time to cool down. She did want something from Tom but it wasn’t a bitch session. She hoped he got the hint and got it fast because she didn't feel like working for what she wanted. He wasn’t stupid, so when she invited him to her quarters to crack open that bottle of wine he’d given her after the Simms interview, she felt confident her intentions were clear enough. She just hoped Zarek didn’t talk too much and make her want to back out of the whole thing because she really needed this release. She already knew he was pretty darned good with his hands. She hoped that ability translated to other talents as well.

Months at best. That’s what Cottle had told her. Now that the initial shock had worn off, Laura felt strangely calm about the whole thing. She checked her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look sick -- not yet. And that was another reason haste was so important, because the last thing she wanted was to be treated like a piece of glass. Laura dabbed some watered down perfume on her pulse points. She checked her appearance one more time and unbuttoned an extra button on the burgundy blouse she’d chosen to wear -- just for good measure.

She hadn’t even realized how much she’d wanted this until the night Tom had taken care of the knot in her neck. Maybe, if she wanted to be very honest with herself, she could admit to being a little bit attracted to her Vice President. It wasn’t like she had the best track record with past relationships, although deciding to sleep with a man who had once been plotting to assassinate her probably did represent an unprecedented lapse in judgment.

A knock at the door put a merciful end to what was becoming a very dreary internal monologue. But why the knock? Laura had expressly told him the door would be open.

“Come in,” said Laura, sitting down in her desk chair and grabbing the first piece of paper that was readily available, which happened to be a pamphlet on diloxin treatments. She quickly shoved the paper inside her top drawer.

“Hi,” said Tom, closing the door behind him. He was carrying a brown bag that made Laura think immediately of the sushi takeout she used to get on Caprica.

“I brought dinner.” He placed the bag on Laura’s desk. “I hope you’re hungry. Curried rice and vegetables. You like curry?”

“I’m not -- “ Laura decided to employ a more direct tactic. She crossed one leg over the other, relieved when the movement diverted Tom’s eyes from her face to her body. He took a good, long look, even allowing his gaze to linger at her neckline. ‘It was thoughtful of you to bring dinner,” said Laura. “Of course, I was more interested in dessert.” There. That should hurry things along.

Only it didn’t.

“Do you have a corkscrew? Because I didn’t bring one.”

Laura opened up the second drawer of her desk and pulled out the requested item. She placed it in his palm.

He smiled at her and reached for the wine bottle and glasses. “May I?”

“Yes,” said Laura.”I wish you would.”

When he handed her the glass of wine, Laura took two sizeable sips to dull the sudden flutter of nerves. She was beginning to feel a little awkward. This would all be easier if Lee hadn’t forced her to admit her illness to the entire known world in open court. She allowed Tom to prepare a plate for her. The food was still hot, and she did like curry.

“Thank you, Tom. You didn’t have to bring dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” He dug into his own plate of food. “You don’t eat enough.”

“I’m busy,” said Laura, taking a small bite of rice. It was good -- just enough spice.

“You’re a workaholic.”

She drained what was left of her wine. “Says the dedicated activist.”

Tom grinned widely at her and leaned forward a little in his chair. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Laura smiled at him over her empty wine glass. “You act like I never give you a kind word, which is simply not true.”

Tom leaned in a little more, scooting his chair toward her so that she could feel his knees brush against her own. He met her eyes. “Why don’t you refresh my memory?”

Laura laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not going to cater to your exceedingly unsubtle plea for additional praise.”

“Oh, well. Spontaneous compliments are always preferred anyhow.”

“Are you going to attempt to elicit some of those?”

Tom made a broad show of considering her question but Laura could tell he already knew how he’d answer her. She sometimes liked this side of him, she had to admit, his unapologetic self-assurance.

“A spontaneous compliment has to come naturally. You’d know it if I were fishing for one. I don’t think you and I have ever been very good at fooling one another, do you?”

Laura gave him her best teacher stare. “Careful, Tom. That statement implies you’ve tried.”

He laughed and it deepened the wrinkles around his eyes. She remembered the way he'd looked in the transport on New Caprica. There had been an easy banter between them then, too. Surprising, really, considering their history and the fact there was a firing squad waiting to give them a warm welcome. But nothing with this man had ever really been straightforward.

Sometime during their exchange Tom’s hand had come to rest lightly against her knee. She hadn’t even noticed right away because she’d been too intent in watching the way his hazel eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled. He looked at her now with undisguised want and there was something almost mesmerizing in that kind of unflinching honesty. It made her feel desirable.

Alive.

Laura stood up to clear away their paper plates and the room was suddenly spinning. She reached out to grab onto something and Tom caught her arm, steadying her.

She sucked in a quick breath.“That’s what I get for mixing chamala and wine. I shouldn’t have had a drink."

“A chamala and wine cocktail,” mused Tom. “Are you sure it’s from that and not a reaction to my amazing mojo? You’re not the first. I’ve been known to make women swoon before.”

Laura gave him a wry look. She appreciated the out though. ”I stand corrected. It couldn’t be the chamala after all.”

Tom picked up their plates. “You take a moment and get your equilibrium back and I’ll take care of these.”

“I’ll help.”

“It's just a couple of plates and forks and glasses. I’ve got it covered, Madame President. I won’t hold it against you if you want to check me out while I do this though.”

“If you keep up with the self-press, you’re never going to have any chance at that unsolicited praise you’re hoping for.”

Tom grinned. "The night is still young."

Laura took a quick walk around the room while he cleaned up. The dizzy feeling seemed to have passed. She leaned against her desk, allowing herself the freedom to admire the Vice President’s ass as he walked into the bathroom. She supposed it was only fair. She’d caught him looking at her often enough and she usually let him get away with it. The thought gave her a moment of pause. Why was that? They’d been flirting with one another -- well, almost since the very first time they’d met. She’d just never given it a voice until now. And she'd never put a stop to it.

Tom emerged from the bathroom and stood against the doorframe while he dried his hands off. “Can I ask you something you probably don’t want to be asked?”

Laura stiffened but she tried to keep her tone light. She didn’t want to have the cancer talk. Not now. “That’s a loaded question and you haven’t even gotten to the punchline. Just be aware that whatever you’re thinking of asking me is probably going to be a mood killer.”

Tom made his way toward her. He leaned in, placing a hand against the small of her back. He opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to change his mind. If Laura didn’t know any better, she’d almost think smooth and poised Tom Zarek was actually struggling to find the right words. He began again. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about this? You and I? There isn’t anything you could tell me that would make that any less true. I just wanna know how you’re doing. How you’re really doing -- not the PR stuff you feed to the press.”

Not at all what she’d expected he’d ask. Laura relaxed. She gave him the short version. “I’m doing fine, Tom.”

“Good. Good to hear. Just -- it’s all right if you’re not, you know. Look, I realize you don’t completely trust me. But a lot of things have changed since New Caprica. You have my support, for whatever it’s worth, Laura. Whatever comes next.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Laura brushed her fingers against the lapel of his jacket. “I’m glad you’re here tonight.” She tipped her head up and kissed him, not to hurry things along like she thought she'd wanted earlier -- but because the impulse to do so was stronger than anything else.

Tom murmured something against her mouth but the words were muffled and indistinct. He dragged her closer, anchoring her body with his own. Just when Laura thought they’d stop to catch a breath, one of them employed a new approach -- the sweep of a tongue, an alluring nibble, a different angle. She had forgotten what this felt like -- the exquisite thrill of discovering a new lover, how good it could be. Maybe when they were forced to reassume their prescribed roles tomorrow, regret would set in. But all thoughts of tomorrow burned away in the heat they created together now.

“Did you wear this for me?” Tom asked her, his voice deep and throaty in her ear as he traced a finger down her collarbone and lower still, stopping at the first button of her blouse.

Laura affirmed that she had with a small hum. He unbuttoned one button and then the next one and the next, kissing along her neckline. Teasing. Slow.

He helped her out of her blouse, nuzzling between her breasts while his fingers found their way to the clasp of her bra. Laura wriggled out of it, laughing when a strap caught on one of the buttons of his shirt cuff.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, pausing to really look at her, to caress the bare skin just above her hip. He took his time, skimming his hands over her abdomen, tracing the curves of her body like he wanted to memorize them. He grazed the tips of his fingers against the side of her breast before padding lightly over the nipple with the flat of his thumb. Her breath caught.

“Is this okay, Laura?”

She nodded, hating the flush of color she could feel creeping into her cheeks. “Yes, you can -- yes, it’s okay.” No visible lump this time. At least there was that.

Small mercies.

He smiled at her, bringing her back into the moment with that infuriatingly cocky grin of his. “I’ve always been an overachiever, Laura. I’m going to try to do better than okay.”

And he did do better than okay, bringing pleasure back to a part of her body that had been, for so long, a source of pain. Laura pulled him into an embrace afterwards, saying with a gesture what she couldn’t bring herself to say in words. She darted her tongue over his lips and planted a secret kiss to the place his dimple always appeared when he smiled, just at the base of his left cheek. He lifted her up onto the desk and she parted her legs, inviting him to step in between them while he felt around for the side zipper of her skirt.

“A desk fantasy, Mr. Vice President?” cooed Laura with a coy smile.

He found the zipper and pulled it down. “Desk. Bed. Shower. I’m not picky. Hell, I wouldn’t even say no the floor.” He kissed her throat, pushing his hips against her, groaning when she swiveled hers in response. In his exuberance, he knocked over a tin of pencils and sent them skidding to the floor with a loud clang.

“Bed’s probably less messy,” he said with a sly grin, sliding an eager hand inside her panties. He edged his finger around her center, a mere millimeter away from where she wanted it most, a calculated move, no doubt, but an effective one. When he finally brushed his finger against her clit, he took her earlobe between his lips and tugged with the edges of his teeth.

“Oh, gods,” cried Laura. She rocked her hips against his hand, allowing herself to sink into the rhythm he set, the surging build. He murmured hushed words of encouragement in her ear, nibbling and kissing and nipping at her neck. She could come like this, she thought with surprise. Just like this. She could fall apart. But who would put her back together after? She followed the glowing wave to the next peak and then the next, until finally reaching that last inevitable ascension.

Tom held her through the slow, cascading fall that followed. Her body slumped forward and she rested most of her weight against him. He couldn’t possibly be very comfortable with her thigh pressing into his groin. She sat up. He gave her a funny look that could only be described as -- pained. She stifled her giggle. He didn't utter a word, which -- for him -- was nothing short of a miracle.

Feeling a bit mischievous, Laura looked down at the sizeable tent in his lap and then back up at him. She smiled innocently. “It appears, Mr. Vice President, we still have a situation that needs to be addressed.”

His voice was at least a third lower than normal. “Indeed.”

“In fact, I’m reasonably certain I’m the only one who can handle it properly.” A flutter of renewed arousal stirred deep in her belly. She caressed the tempting bulge he was still packing, unbuttoned his pants, and slowly pulled down the zipper.

With a lot more ease than Laura would have expected from a man of his age, Tom picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and tossed her onto the bed. She’d never seen anyone remove their socks and shoes with such speed. He wriggled out of his pants like a man possessed and shucked his shirt and tie in record time.

“If only you could get through a stack of proposals with equal enthusiasm, I’d have a lot less paperwork sitting on my desk,” said Laura. She threw a leg over his hip when he leaned down to kiss her. Gods, he knew too much of what she liked already. A well-executed swirl of his tongue sent a shiver through her body that spiraled all the way down to her toes.

“Maybe I just needed a little more -- motivation,” he said, tugging at the waistband of her panties. Laura made a show of shimmying out of them, slow rolls of her hips that had him panting against her neck.

He plunged into her and she was suddenly panting, too. Their rhythm was quick, a little desperate even, but maybe they’d just waited too long to do this. He lasted long enough for her to roll on top of him, digging her knees into the bed during the final thrusts -- until they both went limp.

She lay there for a few moments, so close she could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the flow of his breaths.

Laura rolled over onto her side and Tom slipped an arm around her waist. She turned her head enough so she could see him in her peripheral vision.

“Can I get you a glass of water?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m thirsty as hell.”

“Me, too.”

She padded into the bathroom. It didn’t take long to clean herself up and fill two glasses with water. When she returned to the bedroom, she found Tom asleep, or at least she was pretty sure he was asleep. She wasn’t exactly familiar with her Vice President’s sleeping habits. He might just be relaxing for all she knew. He should probably go if they were going to try to keep this -- thing -- quiet. It’s not a thing, she told herself. And he’s not staying. She reached down to give his shoulder a shake but brushed a hand across his chest instead.

Laura pulled the familiar green blanket up from the bottom of the bed and draped it over him. Months, that’s what Cottle had said. She shivered. It was too chilly to be standing out there naked. A good excuse as any, she decided, as she pulled the covers aside and slipped back into bed.

“Come here,” murmured Tom, making Laura wonder if he’d really been asleep after all. He pulled her against his body and burrowed his nose into the crown of her hair. He felt warm and solid.

Months. Laura nestled closer. Surely then, one night couldn’t hurt.


End file.
